Acouasm
by crownthehound
Summary: One part of him spoke about survival of the fittest, about how if she couldn't fight, she was fated to die anyway. Then the other part, that part tucked away in the deep dark, whispered that he couldn't let her die. (Zombie Apocalypse AU in a Modern Westeros)
1. Target Practice

This takes place in a modern day Westeros.

* * *

There were a few outside today. They were normal ones, slow moving and slow thinking, staggering around blindly. They were only really a threat if you were stupid enough to let one come up behind you. He popped open the window and leaned out, aiming the rifle before thinking again.

"Girl," Sandor called to her. "Come here."

Sansa shuffled toward him nervously. He noticed and chose to ignore the blood caked under her fingernails.

"Have you ever used a gun before?"

She shook her head. "I've never even held a gun before, mister."

His mouth twisted. "Well today will be the first day… and don't call me that." He went through their weapons and picked out something with the least amount of recoil. She held it awkwardly after he handed it to her.

"Go on. Aim and try to shoot one. Take your time, it's not a race, and they are too stupid to get to us when we're here on the second floor."

She tried until the chamber was empty, he refilled it, and she emptied it again. Not a single landed shot. It would be a lie to say he wasn't disappointed, but at least she did put some effort into it. When he finally took the gun from her and shot them all himself, she looked as if she were about to cry.

"I'm sorry, I tried-"

"Yeah, I know. You'll try again next time, too. Try until you get it." He told her. "You can't rely on me forever. I'll probably get bit and turn one of these days, and you'll have to shoot me too."

"Please don't say that." She did start crying then.

"Fine, fine. Stop crying." He looked out the window across the town. "We've gotta leave soon, otherwise we'll be stuck outside at night. That wouldn't be good." The sharks came out at night, sniffing around for something to eat. Their favorite scent was blood. Sandor would've been safe if he was alone, but instead he had Sansa with him. Sansa, the girl who was prone to nosebleeds when she got too upset, and was gifted with a menstrual cycle like clockwork. Sharks could smell her from a mile away.

"Why can't we stay here today?" She asked. "I'm still so tired, and my feet have blisters, and I'm hungry."

"Well, we don't have any food so you're going to stay hungry until we find some, and there's no food here." He pointed to her feet. "And we have to find you some better shoes, too. Those aren't much better than walking barefoot. And above all else, we need to work on getting out of the city. As far as I can tell, this is still the city."

She sighed long and loud in response, and Sandor felt the same. As they made their way outside, he thought he would've given anything for a day to just sleep and not worry about anything. Sometimes he wondered if Sansa could even remember the time before the world went to shit.

"How old were you when the outbreak first started?" He asked her.

"I was eleven." She replied.

"Mother have mercy, eleven years old." He shook his head.

"How old were you?"

"I don't even remember. It's been hard keeping track of things like that since it all started. I think I'm thirty-something now. I must be."

"You don't know how old you are?" She made it sound sad.

"Not right now, no." He grimaced. "It's not that big of a deal. Look at the world we live in."

"Well, I know how old I am."

"Really?"

"I turned seventeen right before…" She looked away. "Right before that thing with my dad."

He nodded. "Yeah." He knew her grief. He remembered his own well enough.

"Couldn't we use one of these cars?" She peeked in the window of one. "A few still have keys in them. We could drive out. That would be faster. Probably safer too."

"Wouldn't work." He told her. "Most of them have been syphoned clean of gas. The rest have bad tires, or dead batteries, or are broke down in some other way. Even if we found one that worked fine, we wouldn't be able to navigate it around all the broken roads and garbage."

She looked at her feet. "I guess."

Sandor found some canned food in the trunk of a car, and pulled some sneakers from a corpse, but unfortunately they didn't fit Sansa. There weren't many undead out. It had started raining around the early afternoon. They didn't much like rain for some reason.

It was good for them to be out in the rain. It was the closest they'd get to a hot shower anytime soon. The rain washed the grime off of them and their clothes. It wet Sansa's knees until they were red and raw.

She sniffled and trembled, and he found a cellar underneath an old pub in town. It was cold but dry. There were a good number of wine bottles left too. Sandor remembered a time where he could've drank himself silly. He guessed the beginning of the end could change someone a lot.

Sansa pulled off her wet clothes and wrapped herself up in a musty old blanket. Her hair was wet and stuck to her skin. He watched her as she shivered and shivered, and then finally fell asleep. He followed her example, pulling off his clothes and taking the other blanket. It wasn't big enough to cover his entire body, but it worked just fine.

The next day, they shook the stiffness out of their clothes and put them back on. Sansa was a pretty enough young woman, but it was hard to conjure any sort of feeling about seeing her naked under those sort of circumstances. He'd seen her naked half a dozen times by that point, and she him.

He used a knife to pry open some cans for them to eat their breakfast out of. He hated the taste of it, and he knew she did too, but they never complained. It was all they had, and all they were like to have for some time.

He decided to indulge her, and himself, and stay for another night in that cellar. They hadn't been on the road together for very long, but she needed some rest after all she'd been through.

Eventually he gathered the strength to open one of the bottles of wine, and offered to share it with her. He drank straight from the bottle, but she poured her own in a little tin cup they had. The more they drank, the quieter and the drowsier she got. Her eyelids drooped, and her head lolled, and he felt tired just watching her.

When they finally fell asleep, they slept into the afternoon the next day.

"Shit," He said, rubbing his eyes.

She jolted next to him, and then relaxed. "What's wrong?"

"It's late. We'll have less time for moving today." He stood and stretched his arms. "Come on."

"My head hurts." Her voice was a muffled whimper behind her blanket. She was still wearing that stupid orange hat, even to sleep. It was thick wool with flaps over her ears and a big fluffy white ball on the end. It was something like a little kid would wear, and too big for her head, too. It made her look like a weirdo, but then he realized that he probably didn't look much better, with his scarred face.

"You have to get up." He said. "We have to get moving. You'll be fine."

She let out another whimper, and tossed back the blankets to reveal her face. She cupped her hands over her eyes for a second before forcing herself to stand up.

"Let's try to make it a long way today." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "I'm tired of this."

"You and me both."

He unlocked and opened the cellar door, helping her out while looking around to make sure everything was still safe. She tugged her hat down, running her fingers over the ends of it.

"What's with that ugly hat anyway?" He asked.

"A piece of home… The last piece."

He remembered how she said she was only eleven when it all started.

He stopped her, and they stood still for a moment. He listened. The city was so quiet he could only hear the ringing in his own ears. He grit his teeth and made sure his gun was loaded.


	2. Run Away

They were almost out of the city when they encountered a group of the zombies. Well, they weren't very much like zombies, not yet. Sansa noticed that they had only fevered, which was the worst part of the whole ordeal it seemed. She had spent a good bit of her childhood running from those things. She knew what they were like. Those were more like really angry cannibals rather than the monsters they would become later.

Sandor pulled her behind a dumpster the moment they spotted them. He clamped his hand over her mouth and brought his own close to her ear, speaking in the lowest possible whisper.

"Don't breathe too heavily. Don't let your feet scuffle on the ground. None of that shit, you hear me?" She nodded vigorously before he let her mouth go, but still held her close and spoke directly into her ear. "There's new ones out there. They have good hearing, better than yours and mine. They can still run. They can still see. They can still think. They can still talk. Don't let them convince you that they are safe. They aren't."

"Okay."

"Now I'm gonna go out there and try to take them out. As soon as I have them distracted, I want you to run, got it?" He squeezed her shoulder a bit for emphasis. "You run as fast and as hard as your legs will take you, and you run into those woods. Find a tree to climb, or someplace to hide, or just keep on running. Only announce where you are when you see my face, you understand?"

"I'll run and hide. I understand. I promise."

"Good." He sighed and peeked around the corner for just a moment. "There's five out there, at most. I don't think I could handle any more than that, but five… I can handle five."

"Are you sure?" Her palms were sweaty so she wiped them on her sweater.

"I better be." He had a satchel with him, and he reached into that, pulling out a grenade. "I stole this from some military assholes years ago. I've been saving these for a while. Now is probably a good time to use them. I'll throw it out, let it blow up, and wait for the smoke to clear. Once I go out there, I want you to count to five really slow, and then run."

She nodded, and he threw the grenade out past the dumpter. She clapped her hands tight over her ears so the loud boom wouldn't make them ring, but it did anyway. She heard muffled noises through her fingers, but as Sandor darted out from behind the dumpster and gunshots were fired, she tried to tune out the words.

One… Two…

She heard more gunshots and a loud grunt. She reached down and pulled off her shoes. They were flats, torn to bits and barely any good for wearing anymore. She stuffed them into her backpack.

Three… Four… Five.

She stood up from behind the dumpster, aimed her sights at the woods, and ran. Faster. Faster. Faster. Her stride was long and soon she didn't have to tell her legs to run anymore. She allowed her eyes to unfocus and thought of her childhood home in Winterfell. It was a big town with a lot of people, but it was spaced out instead of crammed together like a city.

She remembered the wide open hills and plains. She remembered running along those same hills and plains with her brothers and her sister. She could still feel the slightly chilled dew on the soles of her feet. She could still smell the fresh, crisp, cold air. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend she was playing tag with her siblings.

She ran and ran, and pretended her big brother Robb was closing in behind her, but she was the fastest. She was always the fastest. Robb was the strongest, Jon was the smartest, Arya was the sneakiest, Bran could climb better than anyone, and Rickon always won because he was the baby, but Sansa could always run.

So she did.

She ran until the trees had all passed her by and she was in a clearing. She didn't know how far she had run. Far enough that she didn't hear gunshots anymore. She didn't hear much of anything at all, except for birds chirping, and a woodpecker's knocking echoing around her.

She crumpled down into the long grass, her breath finally catching up to her. She gulped down the air, holding a hand to her chest to calm the beating of her heart. Her feet were cut up and bleeding. She didn't look, but she felt the wet slickness of her own blood. She didn't look because she knew when she laid eyes on the wounds, they would hurt.

She lay on her side in the grass until her breathing was normal again. It wasn't a good place to hide, but it wasn't a bad one either. She knew she was a ways away. She was safe. She knew how to listen. If Sandor had taught her anything so far, it was to listen. So she stayed in that position, waiting, and when she heard footsteps crunching on the ground, she flattened herself and caught the briefest glances through the tall grass.

"I know you're here, girl." It was him. She sat up and looked at him. He looked tired and sweaty, but otherwise he seemed fine. "They weren't a problem to kill. It was more of a problem finding you once I was done. If it hadn't been for your blood here," He reached down and grabbed at the grass, and then held his hand up to show her the red. "I wouldn't have found you."

"I took off my shoes so I could run faster."

He walked up to her and sat down in the grass in front of her, picking up her feet and looking at each one. "Didn't even feel it when you stepped in some broken glass, did you?"

"No."

"Do you feel it now?"

"I'm starting to."

He chuckled a bit and reached into his satchel, pulling out their scarce medical supplies. "I'll try to make this quick, then."

She closed her eyes and lay back on the grass as he pulled the bits of glass from the soles of her feet. It stung horribly, and she hissed out a breath every few seconds.

"Speaking of quick," He started. "I never knew you could do that."

"I've always been able to run." She said, glad for something to talk about to distract her a little. "I was planning on joining track when I got to high school, but that never happened..."

"You ran so fast, I wasn't sure your feet had touched the ground. The only proof of that here is the glass in your feet. Looked more like flying to me. Like one of those little red birds, flying away from a loud noise, huh?"

"I wish I was a bird. Those monsters can't fly."

There was a long moment of silence. He poured a little water over her feet to wash the blood away. It stung, but she tried not to make a noise.

"So you never even got to middle school?" He asked.

"No." She told him. "My dad tried to keep us educated. He was really smart, but it was hard for him with all of my siblings. When we split up with the rest of the family, I guess it was a little easier with just me and my sister. He'd give us books to read." After a moment, she admitted quietly. "I still have some."

"Aren't books a little heavy to carry around on your back?"

She tried not to flinch at his tone. "Not really. I like having them. My dad would want me to keep reading, especially now when I'm almost grown."

The burned side of his mouth twitched. It was hard to look at that burned side. He looked like he had been burned really bad. She wondered if he had been burned before the zombies came. He must've been, the skin did look grafted. In some way, that made it worse.

She remembered that her brothers used to read a comic book with a villain in it, half of his face was burned to bits, and you could see the muscle underneath. Sandor's face was a little like that, except instead of muscle you could see the skin stretched really tight over that side. His eye never quite closed all the way, and he had no eyelashes or eyebrows. On the sharpest part of his cheek, you could easily see the strings of the muscles pull.

All of it had turned her stomach at first, he was so ugly, but she knew that wasn't a good way to think. It wasn't like he had chosen to get burned. Who would? She felt so rude when she thought like that, but she had to force herself to look at him. Even after all of it, she had to force herself to look in that clearing.

But his eyes burned worse than his face must have. Sometimes, she truly thought that he hated her, but still, she forced herself to look.

He finished bandaging her feet and she said, "Thank you."

He was instantly agitated. "For what?"

"For tending to my wounds. For killing those monsters while I ran away."

"It's my job to kill those monsters," He snorted. "Don't thank me for doing my damn job."

"Then thank you for saving me before."

He took a deep breath and stood, looking down his nose at her. "Do you really think I would've just let you die?"

"No, because you didn't. You saved me, and I'm trying to thank you for that."

"Well, don't."

"But you killed those people." She stood too, wobbling a bit on her newly bandaged feet. "Joffrey, Cersei, the others… They were going to kill me, but you killed them instead. Why?"

"I thought you were thanking me, not asking questions."

"I'm only-" She paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "Okay. I'm thanking you."

"You're welcome." He practically spat the words at her. He snatched his satchel up off of the ground and strode forward to the other end of the clearing. "Keep up because I'm not slowing down. We still need to find shelter for the night."

She reached into her backpack and gently pulled on her ratty old shoes before following him.


	3. Burn

Sansa sat herself down on some soft damp moss. She spread her skirt underneath her bottom as neatly as she could, but the moisture from the ground soaked through anyway. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a book.

It wasn't a storybook, not necessarily. It was historical, about Greek mythology. She and her sister used to read over that book in particular. There was something to be admired about the gods and goddesses. Artemis was always Arya's favorite, while Sansa went back and forth between Aphrodite and Athena.

Sansa felt herself leaning more towards Athena each day. While Aphrodite was beautiful and strong, like Sansa always wanted to be, Athena was… like her mom. Strong and beautiful and intelligent and eloquent and…

Sansa closed the book and shoved it back into her backpack. She leaned against her knees, tracing her fingers on the runs in her hose. She was surprised Sandor hadn't said something about her clothes yet, but she supposed they would find new clothes soon enough and she would be expected to leave her old ones behind.

She liked her skirt, though. It was good for running. The weather was getting colder too, so she wished she could keep her sweater. She wouldn't mind losing the hose and getting a new pair of shoes, though. She only wore the hose because her legs felt so prickly. She hadn't shaved in ages. She missed the feeling of her legs when they were soft and freshly shaved.

She glanced over at Sandor, who was cleaning and repairing his various weapons. He needed a shave too. She could see where he was starting on a beard on the good side of his face. The scarred side had a few hairs poking through near his lips and the bottoms of his jaw, but not very many at all.

"You're taking a good look now, aren't you?" He growled at her all of the sudden. Her muscles jerked in surprise and she looked away. "You're afraid to look at me the rest of the time. It's easier to look when I'm not looking back, isn't it? When I might not know."

"I'm sorry, mister," She started.

"Don't call me that. And you're not sorry for anything, not one bit." He put down the gun he had been cleaning and strode over to her, yanking her to her feet. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?" She couldn't look at him. She couldn't, but he grabbed her jaw with his fingers and made her look.

"You're afraid of me." It wasn't a question anymore.

"I'm sorry." She suppressed a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry."

"How do you think it happened?"

"What?"

"How do you think I got burned?" He chuckled. "Some heroic battle? Maybe I'm a war veteran and someone threw acid on me, or half my face got blown off in an explosion. No, not that. Not for you. I'd have to be a villain in those tales. Maybe I was attacking someone innocent and they burned me to defend themselves. Maybe I was playing with fire back when I was a teenage brat like you, thinking I knew everything about the world."

"I don't," She was gaping at him. "I never… I don't…."

"I'll tell you how it happened." He jerked her chin upward, forcing her to look directly into that side of his face. "Had some distant relative that wanted something from my father. He decided to play nice, so he bought my older brother and me some toys. My brother Gregor was a lot older and a lot bigger than me. I was only a kid, younger than your sister was; six maybe, only just old enough to not be called a baby anymore."

"Gregor didn't care anything about his toy, so I took it. I knew there'd be hell to pay if he found out. I knew it, but I was a kid. So one day he caught me with his toy, the toy he never wanted. There was a fireplace in the room. The embers were only just burning when he shoved my face down into it. It took every man in the house to get him off of me. When my father brought me to the Emergency Room, he told them I hadtripped and fell into the fireplace."

He laughed, quiet and bitter. "I had three surgeries before they gave up trying to put my face back together." He was quiet for a moment. "Well, nothing to say to that? I bet you didn't even listen to me. You just want to get out of my grip and kick those pretty legs and fly away from me, don't you, little bird?"

"What ever happened to your brother?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Nothing." Sandor shrugged. "I guess he's out there somewhere. Maybe he got bit and infected, and he's one of those monsters now."

It took all of her courage to say it. "He sounds like he was already a monster."

He let go of her face and took a step back. Her hands were sweating, so she gripped the side of her sweater. "Don't tell anyone that story. Don't write it in a diary, if you even keep one, don't confess it to a priest on your death bed, whatever. Don't tell anyone. If you do, I'll let one of those fuckers out there get to you."

She nodded quickly and he strode away, grabbing up his guns and putting his back towards her. "We're in the Kingswood. I haven't seen one of the infected out here yet. I imagine most of them have been eaten by wildlife, but we need to keep an eye out anyway."

"Okay."

"We'll keep going until we reach the end of the wood, and then we'll see what's out there."

She couldn't force down the question that burned in her mind. "Where are we going? Where do you plan for us to end up?"

"Not sure." He shook his head. "Cities aren't safe, too many monsters. Woods aren't safe, too many wild animals. We'll just have to see."

His answer left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I hate not knowing."

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to deal with it." He snapped back at her.

She pulled her backpack on, and he stuffed his belongings back into his satchel, and they walked for a while longer. The foliage of the forest was thick and the air too. She could taste the earthy humidity of it, even through the chill in the air. It was nice, better than the city.

The city was all ashes and ruin. Their safe places smelled of alcohol or bleach or something equally unpleasant. She remembered once how they had to hide in a small closet from sharks when she started her period. She didn't want to admit that sort of information to Sandor, but she had to do it because that was the only way he could keep them safe. So he locked them both in the closet. She didn't sleep that night through the noises. Their labored breaths and smacking lips, and she could almost hear them drooling over the scent of blood.

It had been like that every night until she stopped. She figured that soon they would go hungry enough that she wouldn't even have it anymore, but that hadn't happened yet. Maybe it never would. That would be a pleasant surprise.

They walked and walked until pink and orange peeked through the canopy of the forest. There were no good places to hide or sleep, so they had to make their own. They had a few nicely sized tarps to use. Sandor had her help him as they climbed into a sturdy looking tree and secured a tarp from one tree trunk to another closer one, like a giant hammock. They tied another tarp over that one to shield from rain.

Sansa didn't really like sleeping like that with him. In the city, they could stay as far away from each other as possible, but on the tarp like that, they were forced to sleep back-to-back. Part of her felt more secure knowing he was right there, but another part felt uncomfortable to sleep so close to him.

Still, she never said anything. She didn't want to complain about it. It wasn't like either of them could do anything about it. So that night she lay with her back against his while he slept. She had a hard time falling asleep. She always had nightmares, and was afraid for the images to return. But eventually she did fall asleep, and the nightmares came as they always did.


	4. Finlay

Sansa had leaned against the wall, listening. He had told her not to, but she did anyway.

"We have to throw her out there. They won't leave us alone until we do."

"It worked last time, why wouldn't it work this time? It's either her, or us."

Then she heard him enter the room and she leaned back from the wall, clapping her hands over her ears.

Sansa opened her eyes. She felt something warm dripping across her mouth. She gently wiped her hand at it before realizing her nose was bleeding again. It must've started in her sleep, from that nightmare. She made to sit up when a rough gloved hand pushed her back down.

"Don't you fucking move." A gun was in her face. "Don't."

The man's face was mostly covered. He wore a hoodie and a large brown scarf covered his nose and mouth. He had glasses too, but she could see through those.

He grabbed at her legs, lifting them up and looking at them. She panicked and went to shove him away, but he shoved her back down and pressed the gun hard into her cheek. He lifted up the sleeves of her sweater next, looking all over at her. She felt her skin crawl.

She gathered up her courage to ask him, "What are you doing?"

"You look fevered. Where's the fucking bite?" He pushed her hair roughly out of the way, pulling out a few strands in the process.

"I'm not bitten," She said. "I'm not-" A loud crack drowned out her words. The man fell to his side, off of her, and Sandor was there to grab him up. He punched the strange man hard in the face and wrenched his gun away.

"Did he hit you?" Sandor asked as he handed her the man's gun. It was too solid and heavy in her hands, it made her uncomfortable.

"No," She tried to catch her breath. "Just a nosebleed."

Sandor grunted in response and kicked the man hard in the side. "Well now he's got one to match yours." He leaned down. "Now, just what did you think you were doing?"

The man coughed. His hoodie had fallen down, revealing his greasy hair, on the blonder side of red. "I thought she was one of the infected. I swear. Please I was only trying to stay safe. I saw her and I thought she was infected."

"Since when have you seen an infected sleep, dipshit?"

"I haven't. I didn't know. I'm sorry. Please."

"Are you going to kill him?" Sansa asked.

"Maybe." Sandor replied, looking the man in the face. "I'm thinking about it real hard. But it's not me you've attacked, it was the girl. I'll let her decide whether or not I'll kill you." He dropped the man back on the ground and stepped away.

The man used his scarf to wipe the blood away from his nose and mouth. "I'm sorry, miss. I'm really really sorry. I didn't know."

"You pointed a gun at my face." Sansa had never held that sort of power in her hands, not ever. Before, Sandor had just killed the people who had hurt her without asking her, but now he was letting her decide. Suddenly things didn't seem so black and white.

"I'm sorry, miss. I am." He held his hand out to her, as if to shake it. "My name is Finlay."

Sandor laughed at that. "If you think giving her your name is going to save you, you've got another thing coming. I've killed a lot of people for her, and she knew each of their names, so-"

"Please, you said this was my decision." She didn't mean to snap at him, it only came out that way. But he quieted and gave her a strange look.

"If you thought I was infected, why didn't you just shoot me?"

"I had to make sure."

Sansa was surprised to find that the gun in her face had not scared her very much at all. It was when he started touching and moving her legs that frightened her, but she did not think too hard on that. It was a misunderstanding. She did not think he deserved to die over any of that.

"Let him live, please."

Finlay gave a big sigh of relief, and Sandor stepped away from him. "Listen, fellas, I've been out here by myself for a while since my cousin died. I'll share everything I have with you. My food, my ammo, my guns, all of it. Just… could I hang around you guys for a while?"

"You don't even know where we're going." Sandor growled. "How do I know you aren't gonna just steal all our shit and disappear?"

"I dunno." Finlay shrugged. "I don't think I could carry all of it. And it doesn't matter where you're going."

Sandor shot her a glance. "What do you have to say, little bird?"

While she didn't like Finlay, she did think about it some. "Well... It could be safer with more people."

He snorted in response. "Fine, you can follow us around, but there are rules. Don't touch our stuff. Not my stuff, not her stuff. If you want food or something, you've gotta have someone else hand it to you. And you don't get a gun until I feel like you can have one. And you do as I say."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"And if I'm not around, you do as she says."

"Got it."

"And stop talking."

They had slept out in the open for once. That incident showed that it wasn't such a good idea, but at least it was easier to get their stuff together. Sansa helped him fold up the tarps and pack them away neatly into his bag. Once everything was together, they set off.

They didn't know how much longer they'd be in the Kingswood before they finally got out. They'd been in there for about two weeks, trying to make their way through. It was slower than trekking through the city, but they hadn't spotted a single infected yet. That was good.

Sansa kept a suspicious eye on the new member of their group. He was older than her, maybe even older than Sandor, although if he was it wasn't by much. He was gaunt and skinny, and a few inches shorter than she was, but she'd always been taller than most, while Sandor was practically a giant. His eyes were blue, but not like hers. His were lighter, close to white even. She didn't like it.

She turned away from him, focusing on the road ahead. The blisters she developed on her feet in the city had turned to callouses and made it easier for her to walk long distances. She hoped they could make good time and get out of the forest soon, and then find somewhere safe to go.

While Sandor sometimes said cruel things to her, she was never necessarily afraid of him. She actually felt much safer when he was around. If he had shown her anything, it was that he could and would keep her safe. And he was her friend. She trusted him.

She still had Finlay's gun, though. It was tucked in the side of her backpack, neat and safe. She hated practicing shooting. Sandor had her do it every other day, and she hated it more than anything. She hated how the gun jerked after she pulled the trigger, she hated the smell of it, she hated the sound, and most of all she hated holding guns.

Why couldn't she practice running instead? Running was easier than shooting things. It was safer, and she was good at it. While you could run out of ammo for a gun, Sansa could run for a long time without getting tired. Even if she did get tired, she could still push herself to run further if she needed to.

But she felt childish when she thought like that. It was probably best that she learn how to defend herself with a gun. After all, what if something did happen to Sandor? She would be all by herself. She couldn't just let herself die. She couldn't run away forever.

Finlay huffed behind them. "Do you guys normally walk this much?"

"Yes." Sandor replied.

"Seven hells, where are you coming from anyway?"

"We just got out of King's Landing, from back that way."

"And you are heading out of the forest?" Finlay sighed. "Well, you're gonna be disappointed. There's nothing out there but death."

She glanced over at Sandor, her stomach tightening with worry. He looked back and gave her a tight nod.

Sandor said, "We'll find our way when we get there."


	5. The River

There was something strange in the air. Sandor could smell it. The air was thicker, mustier, and colder than normal. Animals and bugs populated the area more as they got deeper into the forest. He didn't say anything, though. They had that other guy in the group with them. Sandor hadn't bothered to remember his name, he'd be dead soon probably, but he didn't trust that man at all. He thought he didn't trust Sansa, but when the new guy arrived, Sandor realized he was wrong. He did trust Sansa, and it wasn't trust wasted.

She was a smart girl, although sometimes too kind for her own good. She should've let him kill the prick but she probably would've only felt guilty afterwards like it was her fault. She felt like that with all of the deaths they've seen, especially the deaths that Sandor had dealt. She even felt bad when they killed wildlife to eat. Still, she knew what was what. She knew when to keep her mouth shut and listen, but she also knew when to pipe up and say what she wanted to say.

She was, for the most part, a very pleasant travelling companion.

The new guy, on the other hand, was not. He was a complete idiot who thought that they were all friends because Sandor hadn't filled him with bullets yet. He didn't talk too much, or act suspicious or anything like that. He acted like they were friends when they weren't, and that was infuriating. He even acted that way with Sansa, and Sansa liked him even less. Sandor couldn't blame her.

As they walked, the guy kept trying to talk to Sansa when she obviously didn't want him to.

"I'm sorry for what happened before. We just got off to a rough start, yeah?" He said, and Sansa just shrugged, holding the straps of her bookbag tightly.

"Let's just not talk about it." She was mumbling again, that was another habit of hers. Sandor wished she would stop, but the man seemed to understand her well enough.

"Let me just make it up to you." He moved closer to her. "I'll hold your bag for you."

She gripped the straps even tighter. "No, it's fine." She laughed nervously. "I'm so used to carrying it by now, I feel weird without it."

"It's okay, I can carry it. I don't mind." He reached for her bag.

"No, I said no." She moved away. "Besides, your gun is in there and you aren't supposed to have that. Stop." She moved over to Sandor and looked up at him. "May I go little ahead, please?"

He grimaced. "You'll use that gun if you need it."

"I promise." She folded her hands in front of her. "If there's no time, I'll run and try to find you. I would just like a little time to myself, please."

"Go on, then."

"She's jumpy." The guy commented as Sansa made her way ahead.

Sandor cut his eyes at him. "She's seen some shit."

"What kind of shit?"

Sandor grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, dragging him forward. "Imagine this. Imagine being with someone you really care about, among a group of people you trust. Then imagine the group turning against you, and throwing your loved one out into a sea of those diseased freaks. Imagine watching helplessly as your loved one's head is torn from their body." The man only stared. "That kind of shit."

"Well, fuck, man. I didn't kn-"

"Sandor!" Sansa's voice echoed over the trees. His hand immediately released the man's shirt and he looked around. "Sandor! Come quick!"

He broke into a sprint after her voice. He couldn't run as fast as her even if he tried. His body was too big and lumbering. His footsteps were too heavy. He pushed a few low hanging branches out of the way so he wouldn't get hit.

"Where are you?" He called out.

"Over here! Quickly!" He broke through the trees and saw her. She turned and smiled at him, pointing. There was a river.

"A river! Isn't it wonderful?" She drew her arms to her chest and gave an excited little shiver. "Don't you know what this means? Clean, fresh water! And we can bathe!"

He grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Damn it, girl! I thought you were being attacked again! Don't scare me like that!"

"I'm sorry." Her arms dropped to her sides.

"Good. You ought to be sorry." He let her go. "The river is a good thing but not worth a big fuss over. What would you have done if I came out of the forest, guns blazing?"

"You wouldn't have shot me." She retorted. She was right, but he didn't appreciate it.

"What if I would've given a gun to our new friend and he would've shot you?"

"I didn't think about that." But her eyes betrayed her words. He was pissing her off. He felt a weird thrill at it. She was usually pretty controlled and it gave him an odd satisfaction to see her lose a little of that.

The other guy approached. "Oh shit, a river." He said. "It's been a while since I've seen one of these."

"Yeah." Sansa said. "Can we stay by the river tonight? I'm sure it will be safe."

"Sure." Sandor shrugged. "We'll bathe too, while it's still light out. You, uh,"

"Finlay." The guy said, and Sandor grunted in response.

"Collect some firewood. You'll bathe last."

Finlay frowned but marched off into the woods.

"Thank you." Sansa said. "He makes me uncomfortable. I think he would've stared at me."

"Probably." Sandor took off his satchel and sat it down, sitting with his back against the tree. "You bathe first. I'll keep a lookout for our friend."

She was filthy, and definitely in need of a bath. He wished they had extra clothes to wear so they could wash the ones they had on, but they didn't. So they'd have to put their dirty ones back on after they were finished.

Sandor watched the area as Sansa bathed. He'd seen her naked a lot of times before, but he tried not to really look. Nothing good would come of actually looking. He'd either walk away feeling like an old pervert or he'd see how skinny she'd gotten and how many bruises she had and he'd feel terrible.

He hoped she did the same with him. He thought she did. When he bathed himself as she dried off with a blanket and the wind, he didn't feel her eyes on him. He was filthier than she was, but they had no soap or anything. Only water.

When he finished, he dried himself as best as he was able and pulled his clothes back on despite still being a little damp. He wrung out his hair and thought about shearing it off with a knife. He looked over at the girl and thought about shearing off her hair too. It would be for the best.

She was braiding her hair when she saw him looking, and smiled at him.

"I could braid yours too, if you'd like." She offered in all seriousness.

"You've got to be kidding."

"Sometimes men can wear their hair in braids or ponytails, they just wear it lower, closer to their neck. Your hair is long enough. I could show you."

He scowled at her. "Fuck off."

"Don't be rude." She finished braiding her own hair and used an elastic band on the end. "I could just show you. If you don't like it, I'll put it back the way it was."

He contemplated cutting off his hair again before telling her, "Fine."

She settled herself behind him and combed his hair with her half-broken little comb she kept. It was rough against his scalp but that felt nice for some reason. He didn't tell her that, though. She then gathered his hair at the nape of his neck and put the elastic band around it.

"There, a simple ponytail." Sansa said, standing and patting his shoulder. "How is it?"

"It's weird."

"Give it some time, you'll get used to it."

He wanted to growl at her and tell her to take it out, but his hair was still wet and the way she put it kept it out of his eyes. He hated it, but he didn't want to do anything about it so he didn't.

Soon enough Finlay returned with an adequate stack of firewood and a dozen bug bites all over his arms. He itched at them furiously after he set the fire, and went off to bathe himself.

They decided to follow the river and see where that took them, and that, for once, gave them a solid plan on where to go.


	6. The Deep Dark

Sansa awoke in the middle of the night with Finlay's hand clamped hard over her mouth. She felt him behind her, trembling, and when she opened her eyes she saw Sandor leaning over her, looking out into the darkness of the woods.

He glanced down at her and raised a single finger to his lips. She nodded furiously and Finlay removed his hand from her mouth, and she moved her own there instead. They sat there, listening. The animals and insects had all quieted into a deafening silence.

Then she heard it, leaves crackling under heavy steps, labored breathing, a loud, wet sniff.

A shark.

She clamped her hand tighter over her own mouth, effectively suppressing a whimper. She'd never encountered one out in the open before. She'd only ever heard them, and on one nightmarish situation, seen a silhouette in the dark.

Am I going to die tonight? Sansa asked herself, and hot tears ran down her face when she didn't know the answer. Sandor was strong, but could he fight a shark on his own? What if she had to run away? They were fast, but maybe she was faster.

The thought of ending up alone hit her like a ton of bricks and filled her with a horrible fear. She had to force herself to control her breathing, but her head was pounding. She was panicking, she had to stop and calm down.

Sandor leaned down close to the ground, speaking to her and Finlay. "We need to move closer to the river. I don't know why, but they don't like water. I'll go first, since I'm the biggest. If it hears me or anything and comes after me, that will be your opportunity to find another route to the river. Understand?"

Sansa gave the littlest nod she could, and she felt Finlay nodding behind her. Sandor hesitated for a moment, and then reached down and took her free hand and pressed something into it. He then stood and she heard him creeping along in the darkness until the sound faded away. They lay on the ground and waited some more. Sansa was so tense her shoulders were beginning to cramp. They could still hear the shark, but Sansa couldn't guess how close it was and neither could Finlay.

He slowly and gently helped her to her feet, and she stood on shaky legs, one hand still clamped over her mouth.

"Our turn." He whispered to her, and they moved slowly in the direction that they knew the river waited. It wasn't a time for running, it was a time for sneaking. Arya was good at sneaking.

Sansa thought of Winterfell. When she and Arya were children, they used to sneak into the kitchen at night and steal snacks. Arya was a fiend for chocolate, but Sansa loved any dessert with lemons. She remembered once when they had a big lemon pound cake, and she and Arya had snuck to the kitchen to rummage. Arya was steadily searching for candy when Sansa accidentally knocked something over.

Sansa had ran back to her room with all of her might, leaving Arya in her dust, and flung herself into her bed. She had only a few seconds to catch her breath before her mother was opening the door to see if she was in bed where she was supposed to be.

Of course, they'd both gotten in trouble anyway. At first, Sansa thought her sister had told on her, but she couldn't get mad about it because shehad ran off and left her behind, but instead her mother had only put two and two together when she saw some of the lemon pound cake missing.

But this wasn't her mother she was sneaking away from, and her sister was dead.

She heard it closer, then. A wet growl and a loud squelching, disgusting noises that turned her stomach as well as intensified her fear. She could not see in the dark but she could feel how close it was. Her heart was pounding faster and faster. Her ears began to ring. She was so afraid. She'd never been so afraid. Not even when they killed her father.

Suddenly she felt a strange sensation in her face, a calm warm sensation, a single soft click, and she felt warm wetness pour down her chin to her shirt. No. No no no. Not now. It had been so close she could practically feel it tense behind her. She wanted to cry, but instead she took off. She flew past Finlay, who had been in front of her, and faster and faster and faster.

She heard it screeching somewhere behind her in the forest, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She didn't stop until her feet hit water.

"Sansa? Is that you?" Sandor was there, then. She could see his face by the light of the moon. "What the fuck is going on?"

"My nose started bleeding. I'm sorry. It does it at the worst times. I'm sorry." The tears finally came. She couldn't outrun those. He took her backpack from her and fished his jacket out of it, wrapping it around her. She'd worn it so often she didn't know why she still thought of it as his. He even told her she could keep it, but it was too odd to think of it as her own.

"You still got that knife I gave you?" He asked, and she looked down into her hand. It was a knife. She hadn't known. She hadn't bothered to know what it was he'd given her. So she held it up to show him she still had it. "Good. Although your idea was better than mine, if it's close enough for you to stab it, it's also close enough to bite you."

She nodded numbly, not wanting to admit that she hadn't thought about it at all. "I left Finlay behind."

He let out a short laugh. "I noticed. We'll have to wait until morning to see if we can find the bits of him that the shark left." Sansa had to swallow hard to keep from gagging at the thought.

There were no rocks to sit on, so they had to settle for sitting in the shallows of the water until sunset. She washed the blood off of her face, neck, and hands while she waited. The water made her feel safe. The calm sound of it lapping at the shore helped her calm down too. Soon, she was too exhausted to stay awake, and fell asleep leaning against Sandor's back.

She woke with a sharp jolt when dawn came. The sounds of the forest returned, as if the events that happened at night were all a terrible nightmare. She went to shake Sandor awake, but he was already. He looked bleary, and when they stood, his limbs seemed heavy to him. She felt a sting of pity for him, being so tired and having not slept a wink.

"Let's go find our friend, then." He suggested.

They found the shark's tracks. His feet had sunk heavily into the ground. They found their small campsite and the location where Sansa started to bleed from her nose. Sandor used that to tell where Finlay had gone. He had taken off to the right instead of running forward. He cut through some bushes and foliage, and was followed closely by the shark.

"I guess this is where he got killed, but I don't see any blood or body parts lying about." Sandor looked around once more.

"Hey!" A voice called, and Sansa looked up to see Finlay sitting on a thick branch of a nearby tree. "I climbed this tree! I'm okay! It was too big and clumsy to follow me up here, so I waited it out."

"Son of a bitch." She heard Sandor murmur under his breath.

Finlay jumped down from the tree, looking just as tired as Sandor and very stressed, but otherwise fine. Sansa was relieved. She was so tired of death.


	7. Not Good

Warning for violence in this chapter.

* * *

They followed the river like they had planned. It was nice to have somewhere to wash their clothes. Sansa washed the blood from her sweater and wore Sandor's jacket while it dried.

They had slept closer to the river recently, instead of inside of the woods. The nights were getting cold, and Sansa was thankful for having both her sweater and the jacket, but she felt bad because Sandor had neither. She tried to give him her blanket but he refused and called her stupid.

In the afternoons, they walked.

"Shit, it's cold." Finlay said, bundled up tight in his hoodie and scarf. "Is it cold to you?"

Sansa shrugged. "It's a little chilly."

By the river, the land was flat and sandy. Sansa could hold a book in front of her and read while she walked, so she did. When they stopped in the evening to settle down, Sandor went out to find something to eat.

He came back with a few squirrels and Sansa cringed. She hated seeing things like that, poor little things, but she didn't want to go hungry so she kept quiet. She didn't watch as Sandor skinned them either, until he started getting angry.

"Shit," He growled, grabbing up the squirrel he had been skinning as he stood.

"What's the matter?" She asked.

"Damn thing is infected." He held it up and she could see its blood, thick and dark brown, trickling slowly down. She had to swallow hard to fight the wave of nausea that passed over her. He slung it into the forest and bent to skin another. Out of the five he had hunted, three were infected, which meant that two little squirrels had to be split three ways.

Once she had eaten, Sansa changed into her sweater, wrapped herself in her blanket, and lay on the dry sand. She was still hungry, but she was used to that by now. They had other food, but they couldn't just eat it all at once. Sandor said it needed to be rationed, because he couldn't predict when they'd be without food, and if they'd eaten it all by that point then they really would starve. So they ate just enough.

As she lay there, trying to fall asleep, she heard Finlay somewhere near her. He moved against the sand, making a soft crunching noise, and make whimpering sounds as he shivered. She sat up and looked at him.

"Are you alright?" She asked him.

"Yeah, just it's so fucking cold." He told her. She glanced over at Sandor and saw him looking at Finlay with a strange expression on his face.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Sandor rasped. "Are you sick or something?"

"No. I'm just cold." He raised his hands to his mouth, which was covered by his scarf, and breathed on them before rubbing them together. His hands were cut up and dirty, and his fingernails were purple. Sansa's eyes went over to Sandor again.

"Take that scarf off." He said.

There was a long moment of silence before Sandor pulled out his gun, but suddenly Sansa was yanked backwards by her hair. Her hat fell to the ground and Finlay reached into her backpack, pulling out his gun in one smooth motion and pressing it hard against her back. She grunted at the force of it.

She wondered for a moment if Sandor would shoot him, but then she realized that he couldn't without hitting her. Finlay was just enough shorter than her for her head to block his from being a target.

"How the hell did you get away when it bit you?" Sandor asked.

"I punched it in the nose, like you do with real sharks." Sansa couldn't tell if he was serious or not.

"Where did it bite you?"

"On my jaw. It's mouth was big enough to get a good bit of my face and neck too. You should've seen it." Finlay laughed. "What a fucking crazy ass world we live in, where shit like that roams around, huh?"

Sandor didn't say anything.

"Were you really gonna shoot me?"

"Yes."

"Well, now you're stuck, aren't you?" Finlay prodded her with the gun and she whimpered. "Shoot me, and I'll shoot the girl."

"You're getting shot whether you shoot her or not." Sansa didn't like the sound of that.

"Alright, fine." She felt a hard tug and heard a tearing noise as Finlay ripped the sweater from her back, leaving her in her blood stained and tattered undershirt. "Shoot me, and I'll bite the girl." She felt his hot breath over the back of her shoulder and suddenly her heart was beating faster.

"Sandor," She started.

"Sansa, just let me think." The side of his face was twitching, and the three of them stood there in silence.

"Finlay," When she spoke, he gripped the worn tank top she was wearing with such force that she thought he might rip that too. "You attacked me once, and I didn't let Sandor kill you. Why at you doing this?"

"He'll kill me. He'll fucking kill me. Just look at him." She heard him shuddering and sniffing behind her. "I've been surviving in hell for years. I've seen people die all over, and I just don't want to die too. Seven save me, I've been surviving for too long to die now."

"So you want him to let you go, and let you turn into a monster?" She felt Finlay lean his forehead on her shoulder. His skin was hot enough that it was almost painful to have him touch her bare skin.

"Yeah." He said finally.

"Sandor, don't kill him." She said.

"Fine. Let her go," Sandor offered. "and I'll let you go."

"You think he'd listen to you again? I've pissed him off. No, he'll kill me no matter what."

"No tricks," Sandor raised his hands, even the one holding the gun.

"You think I'm falling for that bullshit? No." Finlay still had his gun, and he poked her with it again. "I'm taking her with me."

"You're not doing that."

"Yes, I am." He said. "I'm taking her into the forest with me, far from you, and I'll let her go once we get far enough away." He didn't give them any time to think before he was yanking her into the forest with him. They walked backward, and Sansa kept tripping and his gun kept jabbing her back painfully.

"Your crazy fucking bodyguard isn't going to get me." Her skin crawled as he breathed on her again. "Giant son of a bitch."

"You curse a lot." It was a stupid nervous comment.

"Yeah, well, I'm not exactly in the calmest situation right now." The forest was dark and she couldn't see anything as he dragged her with him deeper in.

"What if there's another shark out here?"

"Don't worry about it."

They kept going backward until Sansa's calves were on fire. She struggled against him for a moment and he stopped, poking her a few times with the gun. "What's your problem?" He asked her.

"Let me go."

"We're not far enough away."

"How far are we gonna go?"

"We'll walk until the sun comes up, and then I'll let you go."

She struggled again. "That's too far! I'll never find my way back!"

"Stop moving!"

Suddenly she was struck with the panic of ending up alone in the woods. She already was, in a way. She was stuck with an angry infected man with a gun who threatened to both shoot and bite her. She had to get away. She had to.

She wrestled one of her arms away from him and shoved it into the pocket of her skirt, digging out the knife and taking a moment to flick it open. His fingernails scratched hard on her arms, trying to hold her still, and she gripped the knife before plunging it back into the darkness as hard as she could.

She hit something, and she heard him grunt loudly before she felt the knife get yanked from her hand.

"You stabbed me. Oh gods, you fucking stabbed me."

"Let me go!" She was screaming and squirming against him, kicking and hitting and scratching what she could. "Sandor! Sandor! Let me go, Finlay!"

She heard Sandor crashing through the forest towards them. He must have been following the whole time. She was almost sighing with relief, almost, when Finlay gripped her hard by the neck to shut her up.

"Mother have mercy. He's gonna kill me now. He's gonna kill me."

She felt his breath on her shoulder once more before he opened his mouth and bit down.


	8. It Burns

Gunshots popped in the air, echoing in her ears. She felt a warm tingling sensation run up and down her spine, through her arms and legs, down to her toes and fingers. It was like electricity. It was both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time.

She felt drunk. She felt high. She felt too dizzy to walk but she could hear and see everything.

"Sansa?" It was Sandor. Where is Finlay? "Sansa? Are you alright?"

"He bit me." She managed. She thought her speech would slur but it didn't. She was fine. She was okay.

"Shit," He repeated that word over and over and over again. He hauled her up into his arms and took her through the forest. She pushed hard at his shoulders.

"I can walk. Put me down." But he ignored her. He carried her all the way back to the river and set her down in the sand, turning her over to look at the bite on her shoulder.

"Am I bleeding?" She asked.

"Not much, but it looks like hell." She heard him uncapping his skin of water and felt it pour over her shoulder. It burned and she flinched away.

"I wish I could see it."

"No," He said. "You don't."

He was quiet, so she turned to look at him. He was sitting next to her on the sand, his eyes on his hands, clenching and unclenching. The expression on his face was one she had only seen once before. He reached for his gun.

"Sandor." She said. He opened the chamber to make sure it was loaded, and then closed it again. He looked at it for a moment, just a moment, before pointing it at her.

"Are you gonna shoot me?" Her voice wavered. "Sandor, are you-"

"You've been bitten." His voice was quiet. "What else can I do?"

"I don't know." She looked away from him, down at the sand. Is this it? Is it over now? Tears rolled down her face as she realized how calm she was. She lived in a world of death, and waited six years for her turn.

"Does it hurt?" She heard him ask, and his fingers brushed so softly over her shoulder that she wasn't sure it had happened.

"Yes." She told him, and it was the truth. Her shoulder ached and burned, even more so since he'd tried to clean it. It throbbed with such intensity that she was afraid that he could see it pulsing. It hurt very badly.

But he didn't say another word, not even an apology as he hit her hard on the back of her head with his gun.

* * *

"Sansa, listen to me, sweetie," Her mother said, stroking her hair. "I know you're angry, and I know you don't understand, but you will someday. This is what has to happen. We need to split up if we want to stay safe. It's just…" Her mother's voice choked off and she paused, covering her mouth with her hand. "None of us want to do this, but this is the only way. Your father and I have talked about it."

"You and your sister will go with him down south. Robb, Theon, and I will go to Riverrun, and Jon will bring Bran and Rickon up north." Catelyn tucked the hair behind her daughter's ear. "You need to remember that, if you ever want to find me. Okay?"

"Yeah." Sansa wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Sansa?" Rickon said to her as they were saying their goodbyes. She held him close so he wouldn't see her tears. He cried too, for a long time after they told him. "I want you to have this, so that whenever we're all together again, you can give it back to me."

"It's colder up north, Rickon. Keep it, you'll need it."

"No, I want you to have it." He smiled at her, pressing the orange hat that Nan had knitted for him into her hands. "It almost goes with your hair."

* * *

She woke up. Her head felt as if it had a million pounds of pressure on it, and her shoulder was an endless searing pain. She cried out. It was too dark to see. She didn't know where she was, and she didn't remember much of what had happened.

Someone was embracing her. Her first thought was of her father.

"Dad?" Her fingers went up, clutching at his shirt in the darkness. "It hurts."

He didn't say anything, only rubbed her back through the many layers of clothes she found herself wearing. She couldn't bend her elbows through the layers, so she laid still until the pain was too much and she washed away again into unconsciousness.

* * *

She remembered the day they found the group in King's Landing. They were a rather large group, full of able-bodied men and women who were apparently under the employment of the blonde woman before the zombies came. Their group had split up too, but their section prospered while Sansa's family didn't.

They had guns, and food, and clothes, so her father asked if they could join. They agreed, so long as they held their own. That was fine. Ned, Sansa, and Arya all scavenged for their own food. While a part of their food was taken to share among the group, father never said anything. Arya said it was unfair, that they give and get nothing back. She said they'd be better off by themselves again. Sansa agreed, but didn't say so.

* * *

She jolted awake again; the pain of her shoulder had spread out her entire back. It was agonizing. She realized she was being held underwater, only her face poking out for breath. She screamed loud, digging her fingernails into the arms holding her and clawing hard, but the hands only held her tighter.

The water was freezing, but more than that, it burned.

"It burns." She called out, still unable to see in the darkness. "It burns."

The hands loosened their grip on her for a moment, only a moment, before tightening again and holding her still.


	9. Sleep

This chapter contains desperate attempts at medical treatment by someone who isn't a doctor.

* * *

Sandor sat in the front seat of the van, leaning back to get some sleep. He wished the old thing worked. No matter how impossible it seemed, he really wished it did.

It was some big old model that moms with a bunch of kids had, or maybe it was one of the ones that hippies used to smoke dope and have sex in way back before Sandor's time. It also might've been some kind of vehicle for supplies or something. There was nothing in the back, but the only seats were the driver's and passenger's seats. Sandor didn't know. Either way, it was good enough to stay in.

He'd found it in the woods only a good walk away from the river. He didn't know what direction he was going in anymore, with the unconscious teenage girl mumbling gibberish into his ear as he carried her like a gods damned backpack through the wilderness.

It looked like someone had tried and failed to get out of King's Landing in their van, but it had broken down or the guy driving had died. Sandor did find a skeleton in the driver's seat after all, but he threw that out.

He had rolled Sansa on to the roof of the thing and worked getting the inside of it cleaned out. It was dust filled and musty, and it took him a few good yanks to even get the doors open through the rust, but otherwise it was in alright shape. The windows weren't broken but a little tap would probably crack them. There were no bugs or plants on the inside, only a little mold.

When he had it cleaned out, he laid out all their blankets in the back and set Sansa down on top of them, wrapping her up. He thought he remembered something about sweating out a fever, maybe that would work. He also covered the van with their tarps to keep the heat from the sun out and keep it nice and dark inside.

He'd never tried anything like this before, but he knew there was a chance she could overcome it if he helped her. So he did all that he could.

He washed her wound over and over, with water from the river and the remaining alcohol swabs they had in their medical supplies. Despite all that, the wound seemed to get worse. It was eerie shades of reds, purples, and blues, and he could see the small veins and capillaries turning black around it.

Even worse, every time she woke she was almost vicious. She'd scream and kick and claw at whatever amount of skin she could find, sometimes even her own. It scared him.

The bite was on the back of her shoulder, near the shoulder blade. The bite wasn't that big, but he could see it spreading. So he took his knife, sharpened and washed it, and cut the dead flesh away.

Thankfully, she was very much unconscious when he did it, but when he was finished she was bleeding freely and he had no needle to stitch it. Feeling stupid, he took his knife and washed it again before making a small fire and letting it heat.

"Do it quick, before you think," He told himself, straddling her back and pressing the flat of the hot knife on the wound to cauterize it before yanking it away and throwing it out into the forest. She didn't even wake up. Maybe she didn't even feel it because she was so fevered at that point.

He felt like shit afterwards, though, remembering his own burning. The smell of burning flesh filled the air for only a split second, but it caught and his nose and wouldn't leave. So he lay beside her in the back of the van, his legs handing down out of the open doors, trying to calm down. Trying to breathe evenly and fight the nausea back.

It didn't work. He fell into a doze for only a minute and then shot up, only just managing to get himself out of the van before emptying his stomach on the forest floor. He made up his mind to apologize to her sincerely if they ever got through this.

Still, burn wounds were easier to treat than zombie bites.

She calmed after that, but stayed asleep. It was strange, the entire thing. From what he could understand, once someone was bitten they didn't sleep anymore ever. Finlay had probably only pretended to sleep after he was bitten.

Sansa did nothing but sleep once he knocked her out. Maybe that's what infected needed to go to sleep, but would they ever wake up? Would Sansa ever wake up?

She did sometimes. She was mostly incoherent and her eyes rolled in her head. She mistook him for her father once, and he let her pretend. He thought maybe it might help her.

It was raining that night, as he sat in the driver's seat hoping for some sleep. He'd closed off all of the doors and the tarps kept it mostly dark inside. He wished the battery was still working at least, so he could kick on the radio, but then he realized that there must be no stations around to play anything.

Sansa groaned in the back, turning over in her sleep and stilling again. He glanced back at her and wondered how they ended up like this, how he ended up like this.

He wondered how he ended up alone in the middle of nowhere with a girl who was barely a woman, trying desperately to keep her alive. Luck was harsh on her, maybe just as harsh as it seemed to be on him, maybe harsher. She didn't seem all that stupid, not really. She tried hard to protect herself, to say and do the right things, but life kept knocking her over harder and harder each time.

She'd live, though. Either she'd become a monster and he'd have to tie her up and haul her off someplace, trying to find someone to change her back, or she'd sleep forever in the back of the van, or if they were lucky, she'd get better.

He glanced back at her again and frowned. It had been a long time since she'd been bitten, maybe two weeks, maybe more. He'd managed to force water down her throat a few times, so he awkwardly maneuvered himself into the back to do it again.

He straddled her stomach and forced some of his weigh down on her, grabbing her jaw and forcing it open to pour the water in. She struggled every time, scratching at him and kicking. He tried talking her into it a few times but he didn't think she even knew what was going on. He'd given up on that, though. She needed to drink or she'd die. After a moment, she stopped clawing at him and simply drank until he lifted the skin away.

"Sansa," He slapped at her face lightly. "Sansa, can you understand me?"

She only tossed her head in response, not even bothering to open her eyes. He frowned and pried open some canned noodle soup. It was cheap stuff, unpleasant warm or cold, but she had to eat. He took his knife and scooped out a fair bit, dropping it into her mouth and closing it with his hands.

"Thank the fucking seven," He sighed when she seemed to understand how to eat at least. In his whole life, he'd never fed another person until that very moment. It was weird, but he was glad she wouldn't die of starvation at least.

When she was finished, he cracked open the door and tossed the can out before closing it again. He crawled back into the front seat and lay back again.

All of her stuff was in the passenger's seat waiting for her to wake up, if she ever would. Sandor didn't know. All he knew was how quiet it was, with the rain beating down lightly on the tarp, just enough to drown all over sound out.

He wished she would speak again. Talk to him about her stupid books or the time before the zombies came or whatever. Tell him .

That lonely void had opened up in him again and he wished she would fill it with conversation, but instead she slept on.


	10. A Minute or Two

"Sandor?"

His head snapped in her direction. She hadn't woken since her bite, not really. She had only woke, dazed and barely conscious, to wonder towards the trees and relieve herself. Other than that, she laid silent and still.

He crawled over the driver's seat of the van into the back with her. It was dark inside, and he could only barely see her face. She was craning her neck to try to see something.

"Do you need something?" He asked her, not knowing what else to say.

"Where are we?" She asked, letting her head fall limp back on the makeshift pillow he'd made out of his rolled up jacket.

"Safe." He told her. "Or, as safe as we can get, all things considered."

She nodded and was silent for a moment. "Am I dead?"

"I don't know if you've turned or not. It's hard to tell." It was better to be honest with her than to lie. He'd always hated lying.

"I feel dead." She told him.

He had to ask. "What does it feel like?"

She closed her eyes. "It feels… nice."

A little spark of fear ran through him. He took his waterskin and poured a bit into her mouth. She didn't flinch or fight, only swallowed it down.

"I feel so tired. Like I could close my eyes and sleep forever."

He grimaced. "Maybe I should keep you awake."

"Don't, please. I'm so tired." She turned over, facing him, and stared. "You didn't kill me."

"No, I didn't." He took his own mouthful from the waterskin.

"Why?"

Why had he done it? He didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't let her die, not without at least trying to save her. All he knew was, for some reason, the thought of being without her chilled him to the bone. There was something about her that was good, that was all he could put together. Even when the world had turned to shit around them, she was still good. She was the only thing left that was good.

"It would be a waste after all the times I've saved you before."

"What do we do now?"

Sandor brought his hand to his face and scratched at his scar. "Well, that depends. Do you think you'd be able to walk?"

"Not very far." She moved her legs under the blankets and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He thought for a moment. "Do you need something to eat?"

She nodded and he gave her some meat he had hunted that morning. He wasn't an excellent cook, the ends of it were burned black, but she ate it anyway and never said a word about it.

"Are you angry at me?" She asked.

"What have you done to make me angry?"

"I got scared… I panicked and stabbed him. That's why he bit me. He was going to drag me with him for miles."

He shook his head, wanting to get angry but not being able to summon the emotion as easily as he could before. "It was stupid, sure, but that's what your instincts told you to do. I didn't think you had it in you to stab anyone."

"I didn't want to." Her voice was almost a whimper. "I was afraid."

"You're still afraid." She didn't have to tell him.

"Yes. I don't know what's going on."

"It's been a while, a long while, since you've been bitten. I don't think you've turned yet, but you still might." He thought for a moment. "I should carry you down to the river so you can bathe."

He hadn't bathed her himself. He couldn't. It was too weird.

"Okay." She said. So he carried her. The light from outside bothered her at first, but she grew used to it. When they got to the water, he helped her pull off her clothes and she had enough strength to sit in the shallow water on her own.

"How long has it been?"

"Weeks." He answered her. "I stopped keeping count after two, and that was a while ago."

She looked like she was about to cry. She ran her fingers over her own bony shoulders, her collarbone, her ribs. He looked away. "I look like I'm sick."

"You are sick." He told her, looking down at where sand met water. "If you get better, we'll find more food for you to eat."

"You look sick too."

He looked down at himself. He'd never put too much stock in how he looked, so he never paid much attention, but he thought at that moment that maybe he should start. His clothes were wrinkled and messy. He was thinner than he ever remembered being in his entire life. He probably looked old, too. His already thin hair was probably getting thinner, revealing more of his ugly face.

Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he was struck with terrible insecurity. He knew he looked uglier than he normally did, and that bothered him. He looked up again and found her staring, a wary expression on her face.

"I didn't mean to offend you." She said.

"I prefer the honesty." He replied with a shrug, more for himself than for her. It didn't matter anyway.

When she was done, she dried and dressed herself, and he carried her back to the van. She was exhausted by then, her head lolling around and her eyes unable to stay open. So he wrapped her in blankets again and set her down in the back. He climbed in with her and closed the doors behind him.

He stayed in the back with her in the event that she woke again, perhaps in the middle of the night, but she didn't. She slept on, and mumbled a bit to herself.

The next night, she shivered furiously under her blankets, her fever rising. Not knowing what to do, he continued to sit with her, and stayed awake to watch. After a few hours, she stopped her trembling. He reached over and felt at her neck for a pulse, finding it easily.

With a sigh of relief, he wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead, and waited for her to wake again. Whenever that would be.


	11. Friends

Sansa lay in the back of the van. She'd never noticed before, but there was carpeting on the bottom. It was short and grey and smelled musty, but it was better than lying on cold metal for weeks and weeks.

Sandor slept on next to her. He was curled into a sitting position, his chin down and his arms crossed over his chest. He was sleeping when she woke, and he looked so tired, so she didn't try to wake him.

His hair was longer than she remembered, and he had it pulled back the way she showed him before. Thick black hairs peeked out from the good side of his face. It was strange to see. The hair on his head was straight and thin, but for some reason it grew thicker and curlier on his jaw.

She mistook him for her father once, she remembered, although she was confused as to why. He didn't look anything like her father, or sound like him, or smell like him. Her father had always smelled like pine needles and fresh aftershave. Sandor never smelled so clean. He smelled like tobacco and earth and leather shoes after a long day of work. But that had soon become another familiar thing to her, even his jacket underneath her head still smelled of him even though he hadn't worn it in so long.

He was confusing to her.

He talked, but he rarely had anything pleasant to say. In fact, most of what he said to her was upsetting and even insulting. Yet for all the things he'd said, he was gentle with her. He protected her even at the cost of his own safety. He helped her, and did nothing to betray her trust, and even kept her alive when she'd seen him kill others for less.

Are we friends? Is that what this is? She asked herself, but she didn't know the answer.

He and Joffrey were friends. Apparently he'd known Joffrey since he was practically a baby, and knew the rest of them too. He'd known the Lannisters for decades and her for only a few months. Yet when it came down to it, he'd taken that shotgun to a room full of people and he'd done it for her.

And she hated herself for it, and she hated them, and she wanted to hate Sandor too but she couldn't.

When she was younger, before the world got so messed up, she remembered seeing stories about people going out and killing huge groups of people just out in public, sometimes for no reason at all other than that they wanted to. They were murderers of innocent people.

But what was Sandor? A killer killing killers, a twisted sort of hero but a hero all the same, at least to her he was.

She felt sticky and disgusting with her own sweat, and couldn't help but shift. He woke when she did.

"You're up." He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes before leaning over and pushing the door of the van open. Light poured in and Sansa squinted. He looked over her and touched at her forehead. "Your fever broke."

"That's a good thing." She said.

"Yeah." He leaned back against the window. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long." She shifted again and rolled her sore shoulders. "It wouldn't matter if I was up for a long time, anyway. I can barely move."

"How do you feel?"

"Sick." She didn't know what it all meant, being bitten and waking up normal later on. She didn't feel any impulse that she thought she should feel. She didn't feel angry or hungry or anything that she thought she would feel, but she was afraid to hold out hope that she would be okay, especially with the way she felt.

"What hurts?" He asked her. There was no gentleness to his tone, but the fact that he asked showed his concern.

"My shoulders. My back." She moved her toes. "My legs."

He rolled her over and pulled down the filthy tank top she was wearing, examining the bite on her back. "It's still healing." He pulled her shirt back up and looked her in the face. "I can take you back to the river for another bath, if that's what you want."

She shook her head. "I don't think I have enough energy."

He grunted in response and leaned over, closing the doors to the van again. They sat in the darkness long enough for her eyes to adjust. He was just sitting there. She couldn't see him well enough to tell whether he was looking at her or not.

"I wish this stupid thing worked." He kicked inside of the van with a thump. "Our lives would be so much easier if we just had a working car. I wish the radio would work, at least. Give us something to listen to. Well, no, because I doubt there's anyone out there playing music for us to hear."

"What does it mean?" She asked suddenly. "I mean, my being here, what does it even mean?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm alive, I don't know how. I just… I wonder what that means."

He snorted. "If you're expecting me to feed you something about how the gods had more plans for you, think again. You're here because of me, a hot knife, and your own immune system. I'm not sure if it means anything."

She swallowed, trying to draw forth moisture for her dry throat. "Are we friends, Sandor?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what else we would be."

They sat in silence again, and she thought about his broken radio. She wished it worked too, and someone was out there to play music. She missed music.

"Would you like me to hum something for you?" She asked.

"No, don't waste your breath." He pulled her blankets over her and tucked them under her with a little more force than necessary. "Just sleep. We can't have you dying now, after the fight you've put up already."

And she almost wanted to smile. Almost, but she was too tired.


	12. Don't Drown

Sandor never dreamt much as an adult. As a child, his dreams were vivid and terrifying, but they faded with age. That night, he relived a dream he had not had in decades.

There was a pond near the house where he grew up. His father's property was huge, something he inherited from his own father who'd made a name for himself by himself. The house was a normal size, maybe even on the small side, but it was surrounded by acres of forest and a big fence built around it to hold it all in. There was even a pond, if he walked a ways out.

In his dream, he was still a child, and he walked all the way out to the pond and stared at the water. He couldn't see his own reflection. The water was dark and deep, and it scared him. He pulled off his shoes anyway, and peeled off his jacket. It was cold outside but he was sweating a bit anyway from nerves. He dipped his toes in, and the water was freezing.

It didn't feel like water, not really, more like a cold chilly breath across his skin. It was terrifying, but also exhilarating. He knew it couldn't hurt him. This was a fright that he could control. So he waded into the water and dived down, and then deeper down. He stayed in the cold water, eyes closed and holding his breath, for as long as he could take it.

When his lungs finally screamed for air, he swam back up and was met by a wall of black ice. He tried to pound at it with his fists, but under the water he couldn't gather enough momentum for a solid punch. The water was so cold that it burned. His vision was darkening as he scrambled to find a way through.

Suddenly a fist that wasn't his own broke through the ice and grabbed him up by his shirt, pulling him out of the water. He sputtered and coughed out the water that had made its way inside of his chest, and when he could finally see, he was looking into the face of his brother.

"You saved me." He could scarcely believe it. "Thank you, Gregor. Thank you."

"It wouldn't do to let a good dog go to waste." Gregor's face twisted into an ugly grin, and the arm that wasn't holding his shirt swung back.

Sandor woke with a gasp as the fist collided with his stomach.

"Were you having a nightmare?" Sansa asked from where she was lying on the grass beside him.

He nodded, wiping away the sweat that had collected at his brow. "What are you doing up?"

"I have nightmares too. Bad ones." She told him. "About Joffrey killing my dog, and hurting me, and killing my father… and when you took me away. I dream about one of us getting hurt or killed or sick, or something."

Sandor didn't know what to say to her. He wasn't proud that he did nothing when her father was killed, and he wasn't proud of taking a shotgun to Joffrey's chest either, but he never had a choice. They didn't talk about it, though. So he didn't have to tell her that despite Joffrey being a despicable piece of shit, Sandor had known the kid since he was a baby and killing him had ripped loose a very old scab on his soul. If someone else had done it, Sandor would've felt nothing, but killing Joffrey himself made him feel like some kind of traitor.

He was quiet for long enough that Sansa shifted beside him and poked gently at his upper arm. "Did you fall back asleep?"

"No." He said.

"Oh." She lay back again. "I miss the van."

"We couldn't stay in one place forever, and that thing wasn't moving with us."

"I know," She said. "I still miss it."

In truth, he missed it too. It was the closest thing he'd had to a home since the whole damn mess started. Ten years ago, he would've laughed at himself living in a van and taking care of a sick young woman.

It was still night, but they decided to eat something and head out. Sandor had found a map, wrinkled and covered with ancient coffee stains, in the glove compartment of the van. He glanced over it and grimaced.

"Where did you say your mother was again?" He asked.

"Riverrun. She grew up there." She replied, taking a quick sip of water to wash down the foul taste of the burned fish they were eating.

"Damn it. We're farther away than I thought we were. We left King's Landing from the south, rather than the north. We'll have to go back up, but around. I'm not going into that gods forsaken city again."

"What will we do when we're far away from the water?"

He shrugged. "Hunt for animals on land, try to save our water that we do have. Hopefully we won't die, and you'll get to your mother."

"It's been so long since I've seen her." Sansa said. "I was a little kid the last time. I wonder if she'll recognize me."

"She'd be a terrible mother not to recognize her own child."

"I didn't mean it like that, I meant… We've both probably changed so much. It's been over six years now. I'm grown up, and everything."

"And everything?" He laughed unkindly. "You're still a kid because you still act like a kid. Although I'm not sure I can blame you. I'm sure it's hard to grow up proper when you spend half your childhood running from death."

He helped her to her feet and watched as she tested her legs. He'd been carrying her on his back lately, with her arms around his neck and his arms wrapped under her legs. It was annoying, and made them go slower, but it was some progress at least.

"I think I can walk today, at least for a time." She told him. Her face was red. He knew she didn't like being carried much. "If we take breaks, you won't have to carry me at all."

"Alright." He slung her backpack on his own back and gathered his satchel too, and they set off north, towards Rivverun.


	13. The Red Light

It had been nearly two weeks since they left the van. They were circling around King's Landing, keeping a fair distance, when Sandor had them stop in the middle of the day over something that Sansa found very stupid.

They had already left the forest and were travelling over hilly plain when they found an old building, maybe a store or a garage, that was mostly rubble. Beside the fence, there was a dumpster, and Sandor felt that he had to dig through that garbage before they moved on.

"Remind me why you're doing this again?" Sansa asked.

"Might find something useful." He said, and then abruptly hopped into the dumpster. "It would be easier if you helped me."

"I'd rather not."

"Fine." There was a metallic clank and he tossed out half of a rusted old bicycle. "Take this around for a ride while you're waiting on me."

"That's disgusting."

He laughed. "And you think my taking care of you while you were sick, bleeding and vomiting and trying to kill me, wasn't disgusting too? Sometimes it's necessary to be disgusting."

Sansa wanted to curl up her lip and tell him no, but decided against it. He would only laugh at her and treat her like a child, and that just annoyed her to no end. When he treated her that way, she wanted to stamp her foot at him and tell him that he wasn't her father, but that would only make it worse along with bringing up bad memories, so mostly she kept those thoughts to herself.

She reached into her backpack and pulled out one of her old books. It was a science book. She rarely touched it, although she did feel bad for that. There were embarrassing pictures in there of naked people, and they were very detailed. Her face was on fire with just the thought of Sandor peeking over her shoulder while she read that. He'd ridicule her endlessly.

She settled the book on her knees and skimmed through the pages, looking for something interesting. Space was always fun to learn about, along with little cells and animals. Some of the pages were damaged by water and time, but otherwise it was in pretty good condition.

Sandor tossed out a few other pieces of junk while she read. She looked up at him.

"Found anything useful?" She asked.

"A pot. We could boil water to make sure it's clean. Let's see." He rummaged a bit more. "Other than that we have some busted power tools, kids toys, a broken sink, and… what do you know? An old radio." He turned it over and popped open the bottom. "Batteries are still in it too. Maybe if we're lucky, it'll work." He rattled it a bit and mashed the buttons. Nothing. "Of fucking course not." He tossed it out and disappeared into the dumpster again.

Sansa bit down on her bottom lip and flipped through the pages of the book. "Well, if you want a radio that much, we might be able to make it work."

His head popped up. "I'm listening."

He had to dig around in the garbage a bit more, but soon he had everything that they needed. Some old tinfoil, a power drill, and the bike pedals were all that was needed to make something to recharge the batteries in the radio. Sansa took them out and dusted them off at the same time as consulting her book, while Sandor stripped some wires with his knife.

It was as easy as putting it all together, holding two wires to opposite ends of the batteries, and getting Sandor to turn the bike pedal like a crank. They gave each battery a minute or so until they assumed it was recharged.

"Looks like your books have some use after all." He admitted to her, and Sansa tried to suppress a smile.

She inserted them back into the radio, making sure everything was perfect, and switched it on. Some instrumental guitar music crackled through the speakers painfully, but Sansa hadn't heard music in so long that she welcomed it.

Sandor stood for a moment, a grimace-like smile on his face, before the smile fell and he suddenly grabbed up the radio like something was terribly wrong.

"What?" Sansa exclaimed. "What? What is it?"

"There's music coming from this." He looked over at her. "Do you know what this means?"

"We got it to work?"

"There's a signal." He looked out over the horizon. There was nothing to be seen. "Somewhere, there's a signal, and that means there's people."

"What do we do, then?" She asked.

"We'll wait until nightfall, and then look for a red light flashing somewhere out there."

They sat in the grass, watching the horizon but seeing nothing in the light of the day. Sansa read a little and listened to the music, and was eventually lulled to sleep. It was a good sleep, a needed sleep, and the grass was so warm and soft. It was better than the forest, more comfortable than the van, though she missed the way it had been before.

Soon she was being shaken awake by Sandor, who was pointing out towards the horizon.

"Do you see it?" He pointed. "Tell me if you see it too."

Sansa squinted, trying to make out what she could in the darkness, and soon a tiny red dot appeared so far away that she could barely see it and then faded away.

"I saw it." She rubbed her eyes. "So there's a radio station with people who are playing music, what does that mean for us?"

"It means that they have electricity and they know how to keep it running. So we follow it, and we see who it leads us to."


	14. The Safe Place

They were so close to the radio tower, Sansa felt it, although the feelings she had weren't ones she liked. She was so anxious that she felt a little queasy, and her palms were sweaty. The area around the radio tower was hilly, with trees spaced out around them but not enough to call it a forest.

"Why are we trying to find the radio tower again?" She asked.

"Because," Sandor replied. "There has to be someone there running it. Someone with electricity, and they probably know what's going on with the rest of the country too." He turned to her and scowled. "I thought you'd be more excited about this, or at least a little curious."

"I'm just… I'm just worried, that's all. My family and I had been travelling around for so long and the first group of people was the Lannisters."

"If they turn out like that, I'll just do what I did last time." He told her, and that only made her feel worse. Why does he have to say such things to me?

"And you'll do it over and over again until we're the last two people on this planet." She snapped at him, walking a bit faster and trying not to stumble over anything on the ground. "What will you do then?"

He looked at her, his eyes hard and cold. "Then the world will end with you and I." He sneered. "How poetic, I bet you liked that."

She did think it was quite poetic, but she didn't tell him and she definitely didn't want that to happen.

"Maybe, if they are bad people, we can just run away from them. I doubt they would follow us." Sansa said. "But if they are good people…"

"No such thing." Sandor replied. "Everyone has a little bad in them somewhere."

"That's not true, there are good people."

"Like I said, everyone has a little bad in them somewhere. If you had a white shirt with red stripes, you couldn't call it a white shirt, now could you?"

"But we're talking about people, not clothing!" She chewed at her lip. "I'm a good person, aren't I?"

He glanced over at her again, shocked one moment and strangely calm the next, but he never answered her. "I want you to stay about fifteen feet behind me, in the event that something goes wrong." He walked forward, ahead of her. "Go on, now."

She frowned but stood still for a moment so she could fall behind. He was so weird sometimes. She wished he would talk to her more often about meaningful things and not about boring things like the weather. They were supposed to be friends but he never asked her about her books, or how she felt, or anything important to her, and he seemed to get so annoyed when she asked him about things that seemed important to him.

She glared at his back while they walked. He was so difficult sometimes. He was good to have around for safety and everything, but horrible with conversation. He only wanted to talk about things that were dull or scary, and she hated scary stories.

They walked along for a few minutes more before Sandor disappeared from sight with a snap and a loud grunt.

"Sandor?" Sansa called out, frozen with fear.

"Seven fucking hells. Gods damn it all." Sandor's voice ground out. "I'm over here. Be careful"

She crept closer to where he had disappeared and saw a large hole in the ground. It had once been covered with leaves and dead grass and such, until Sandor had fallen in. A large metal contraption was locked around his leg up to his calf, and blood leaked through his pants where the spikes had dug in. He was tall enough to have been able to get out, if not for the trap.

"You've got a metal thing-"

"Yeah, I know that." He snapped, pulling at it and hissing with pain. "It's a bear trap. I don't think I can get it off."

"What do we do?" Sansa asked, and he sat still for a moment, breathing heavy and thinking.

"You'll have to go on without me, and try to find the people in the radio tower. They might be able to help you." He moved his leg and hissed again. "You wouldn't be able to get me out of here yourself."

"But what if they aren't friendly?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "You'd have to just run. You're good at that."

She was trying not to cry but her eyes were burning so badly. "I'm scared."

"And you think I'm not? I've got this fucking thing on my leg and I'm in a hole! Now go, before I bleed out!"

Sansa stumbled away from the hole, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. I'll be okay. I'll be fine. She ran off in the direction of the radio tower. It had been a long time since she'd ran, but soon she found herself picking up the pace as if she'd never stopped. She sprinted up a hill until her legs burned and kept going.

She made it up the hill and saw the tower, surrounded by a fence but the gate was wide open. She hurried inside of the fence and ran towards the open door, but her foot caught something and she slammed hard into the ground on her stomach, forcing the air from her lungs.

She gasped, her eyes blurring with tears, trying to breathe. The first breath came in, long and strangled, before a pair of firm hands were lifting her up into a sitting position.

"Come on, now. Breathe. Breathe." Said a smooth, comforting voice. "Keep calm and breathe. In, out. Breathe with me." They pulled her closer and put their mouth to her ear so she could hear them. She blinked her tears away as she followed their instructions. Her chest and stomach stung, and her throat hurt, but soon she had her first good breath and coughing fit right afterwards.

"Come on now, pay attention," The hands went to her face, pulling her chin up to look. The person who had helped her was a tall woman with dark skin and darker eyes. "What were you running from? Come on, this is important."

"I'm not running from anything." Sansa said, wiping her cheeks. "My friend, he's fallen into a hole with a trap inside. He needs help, and we knew there was a radio tower-"

"Wait, you knew about the tower?" The woman asked. "How?"

"We have a radio. Sandor figured out the rest."

The woman sighed and stood, helping Sansa to her feet as well. "Well that wasn't exactly according to plan, but you don't look like you're about to kill us and steal all of our stuff, are you?"

"No."

"Then you are welcome here, along with your friend once we rescue him." She gestured to the tower and a girl who looked a lot like the woman poked her head out of the door, along with another girl who was pale with long dark hair.

A thousand questions flew through Sansa's mind. "What is this place? How did you find it? How do you keep it running? Why-"

"Later. We have to save your friend. All that you need to know is that I'm Chataya, and that this is a safe place."


	15. New Faces

Sandor was awake, painfully awake, throughout the entire ordeal. His ankle was not broken, but the skin was shredded down to the top of his foot. It burned constantly, but even more so when some strange man removed the trap from his leg, and a few women helped pull him from the hole.

Sansa was there, sniffling the entire time, but she never said a word. She only patted his shoulder as he limped back to the tower with them, leaning heavily upon the only other man in the group. When they got back to the tower, he was set up on a cot and a thin blanket was thrown over him.

"Stick with me." He told Sansa. "We don't know if we can trust them yet."

"But they saved you."

"That doesn't matter." He glanced over in their direction. They were all gathered together on the other side of the room, staring and talking among themselves. There were four of them altogether. "They are deciding what to do with us."

He felt her eyes on him and turned back to her. "Was this a good idea?" She asked him. "Should we have even come here?"

"What else would we have done? Walked in circles and waited to die?"

"At least we would be safe." She leaned closer, whispering. "I don't want to do this again. Please, if anything goes wrong, promise me that we'll run first."

He searched her face. She was scared, but he didn't know what to tell her. He didn't want to lie. "I can't promise that."

"Please, please, we'll find a way."

"Even if everything goes wrong? Even if it turns out they want to keep us in cages and poke at us every now and then?"

"Yes." Her hand found his shoulder and gave a small squeeze. "Please, I can't do that again. I can't."

He didn't think he could either, so he swallowed his own fear and nodded.

The group across from them had finished chatting and turned to face them. There was a woman who stepped forward. She was taller and older than everyone else.

"I am Chataya." The woman said, and gestured to the group behind her. "This is my daughter, Alayaya," She put her hands on the girl's shoulders. The girl looked a lot like her mother, but her features were still soft from her youth. "And these two are Shae and Bronn." Shae was older than Alayaya, but shorter. She was pale and naturally thin, with dark hair and eyes. Bronn was tall and thin, and had a bitter expression on his face.

"May we know your names?" Chataya asked.

"Sansa, and Sandor." Sansa replied after a moment, glancing over at Sandor for a second before locking her eyes back on the group in front of her.

"Are you hungry?" Alayaya asked. "We have plenty of food stockpiled here."

Sansa's mouth hung open for a second before she replied with an enthusiastic yes. Soon enough they were loaded down with some kind of stew.

"We have goats here." Shae explained to them as she handed them the bowls. "We keep them fenced in, so if there are ever any infected around, they don't get to them. They are good animals to have, very useful, especially for food."

Sandor had never eaten goat before, but he had no complaints.

"Have you been eating well?" Shae asked Sansa, giving a light touch to her arm.

"Well, we've tried to. It's hard to find food that isn't infected." Sansa glanced over at Sandor, and he glanced back down at his food.

"Hey," He felt a poke at his shoulder and looked up to see Bronn. "I knew my luck of being the only man here wouldn't last very long. Oh well, but I feel the need to warn you. These women will cut your cock off if you do anything to make them feel-"

Sandor grimaced. "I won't."

"Well, I'm just saying-"

"I won't." Sandor repeated, and then glanced over at Sansa. "But if you make her feel uncomfortable, you'll have to worry about me. She's stabbed a man for handling her wrong, and I finished him off. Don't think it would be any different for you."

"And here I was thinking that you and I could be friends." Bronn said, and then shrugged and walked away.

"What was that about?" Sansa asked him after Bronn had left.

"Nothing." Sandor replied.

"Everyone seems nice so far." She said. "And it was so nice to eat as much food as we pleased."

"How do you feel?" He gestured to her back. "How does… that feel?"

"Fine. I mean, it's a little numb and the skin is tight sometimes." She rolled her shoulder a little. "It's fine."

"You shouldn't let them see it." He whispered. "We don't know how they'll react. They might think you're sick."

"That's probably a good idea." He saw her hand unconsciously pull the collar of her shirt closer to her neck.

"Are you cold?" They both turned to see Alayaya, standing with a bowl of her own food. "We've got some extra jackets and such here, if you need one."

"I'm fine, thank you." Sansa replied.

"It's nice to have new faces around and someone closer to my age to talk to." Alayaya smiled, and cast a sideways glance at Sandor. "I imagine you feel the same."

"Well," Sansa glanced back at him and offered a small smile. "He's been a good friend to me."

"Good, I'm glad. It's good to have friends in times like these. There is safety in numbers, and we're all safe here."


	16. Something New

This chapter contains brief discussion and thoughts on the subject of sexual abuse.

* * *

"Everything alright?"

Sansa turned to see Shae standing there next to her cot, a thick coat wrapped around her shoulders.

"I'm fine. Only tired." Sansa replied. Sandor was asleep a few feet away on his own cot. The room they stayed in looked like it had once been some kind of storage room. It was small, only big enough to stuff the two cots in, and the walls and floors were covered in carpeting. It was strange to stay inside somewhere that was clean and warm.

"Can't you sleep?" Shae sat down cross-legged next to Sansa's cot.

"No. It's just so strange to be here with other people." Sansa whispered. "I'm not used to it."

Shae's eyes flitted to Sandor's huge frame in the cot across the room, and then back to Sansa. "What was it like, with just him?"

"I don't know. Normal, I suppose. As normal as anything could be."

"He didn't feed you well. Was he cruel to you?"

"No, not cruel." Sansa lay her head down on her pillow again. "He's only very… he's stubborn and impatient, but he's also very strong and brave. He's saved my life many times."

"He never expected anything from you?"

"I- I don't- He wanted me to help him at least."

"He never…" Shae seemed to struggle with her words. "When the world goes sour, and men like him are left with girls like you, sometimes they become cruel monsters." Her fingers reached under the blanket and clutched Sansa's hand, much like Sansa's mother used to. "I want to make sure he has not-"

"Oh!" Sansa suddenly realized what Shae was saying. "Oh no, of course not. He doesn't… I don't… It's not like that."

She could see the relief on Shae's face. "Good. You're a sweet girl, Sansa, and I know how dangerous men can be."

"Is that why Bronn is the only other man here?" Sansa asked.

"Bronn is here because he's useful. He's cocky and annoying, but he wouldn't try to hurt you or any of us. He may be a bit of an asshole, but he's not a monster." Shae shrugged. "And Chataya has her ways of dealing with monsters. But the reason that Bronn is the only other man here is because he's the only one who could stand to stay. It seems the men that come and go prefer to keep going. They don't like staying put."

"There have been other men, other people?"

"Oh, yes. Groups pass by, and once we assess that they aren't a threat, they can stay for a while." Shae sighed. "Bronn came by with the last group. There was another man in that group that I had taken a little liking to, but when it came time to decide to stay or go, only Bronn stayed."

"Maybe you two will find each other one day." Sansa squeezed Shae's hand. "That would be so romantic."

Shae allowed a smile. "It would, but I'm not worried about it. I can live without him. We've got everything we need here. So when the time comes that you have to choose, you could stay too, if you wanted."

"We've only been here a day." Sansa said. "I don't want to think about that right now."

"That's fine. I was only saying." Shae peeked over at Sandor again. "How is it that you ended up with him, anyway? From what I can tell, you aren't family."

"No. It's…" Sansa bit her lip. "I was with my family, a few years ago, and my family joined up with another to survive in this city. But they were cruel, and they killed everyone except for me. Sandor was there, with them, and he… he got me away."

"It's a shame that he couldn't have gotten all of you away."

Sansa sniffed and shook her head. "I don't know if that would've been possible. They had a lot of guns. They were smart."

"Then how did he get you away?"

"They never expected him to betray them. Not for me."

Shae nodded and looked down. "I could make us something hot to drink, if you'd like. If you're staying up, you might as well."

"Thank you, but I really should try to sleep." Sansa pulled her blankets up over her shoulders with one hand. "I don't want to get sick, you know?"

Shae smiled. "Yeah, I understand. I hope you sleep well."

"Thank you." Sansa replied, and Shae closed the door quietly behind her as she left.

It was so strange to be somewhere that was safe and functioning. They had electricity, and resources, and even running water. Sansa hadn't gotten an opportunity to bathe yet, but she was excited for the opportunity. After years of bathing in rivers and lakes, and metallic-smelling rainwater, an actual bath seemed like the nicest thing she could imagine.

She turned over in her cot and looked at Sandor sleeping across the room. He didn't seem to fit in as much with everyone else. She wondered if he was doing that intentionally, or if he just wasn't good at being around people. She thought back on her time with the Lannisters. He never quite fit in with them either. They treated him like a servant. The only one who treated him any different was Joffrey, but even then he was only treated like his favorite servant.

Sansa felt a twinge of pity for him. She wondered if he had always had trouble making friends, or fitting in. She knew what it was that set him apart. His attitude was only half of it. Sandor was a frightening man. His scars were horrifying, and he was so tall and strong, he looked like he could pick up a grown man and throw him across the room like nothing.

While no one in the radio tower seemed necessarily afraid of Sandor, they seemed wary of him like anyone would be of a complete stranger in their home. But it was Shae's thoughts that troubled her.

Sansa herself had been afraid of Sandor once, part of her was even then, but she had never thought him capable of anything like that. They had seen each other naked a thousand times, but he never looked at her. She never felt his eyes on her in that way. She'd never felt threatened in that way by Sandor.

She supposed that was why she liked being around him. She knew he would try his best to keep the both of them safe and fed. He might be rude and rough-around-the-edges but he wouldn't hurt her. He could've killed her when she was bitten, but instead he stayed by her side until she was well again.

Each time she thought of it, there was a tight feeling in her chest, and tears pricked her eyes. To know that he wanted her around, and alive and well, it touched her. That he would go so far as to try and save her from turning into a monster, it meant so much.

She brushed away a stray tear before it could land on her pillow. Now they were safe. They were with caring and intelligent people, and they could be a part of something again.

It wouldn't be like with the Lannisters. This time it would be something good.


End file.
